


fables of tellius

by green_piggy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Awkward Flirting, During Canon, F/F, Gen, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Path of Radiance, Tellius Week 2020, parental neglect, with new chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26072134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/pseuds/green_piggy
Summary: A series of drabbles and short one-shots written to celebrate Tellius Week 2020!--Chapter 1:While struggling to feed his brothers, Oscar chances across the great mercenary Greil. Pre-game.Chapter 2:Lyre and Ranulf talk after she has yet another argument with her sister. During Radiant Dawn.Chapter 3:After Lyre is chosen to enter the Tower of Guidance, Lethe pulls her aside to talk. During Radiant Dawn.Chapter 4:While nursing a drink in Crimea's finest bar, Heather is approached by its owner. Post-Radiant Dawn.
Relationships: Heather/Kariru | Calill, Lay | Ranulf & Lyre, Lethe & Lyre (Fire Emblem), Oscar & Boyd & Rolf, Oscar & Greil
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. children - oscar and greil

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't planning to take part in this week but my writing muse went "hey remember how much you love tellius" "FUCK" and here we are!! hopefully i'll be able to do one for each prompt hehe
> 
> nothing much to say! hope you enjoy <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While struggling to feed his brothers, Oscar chances across the great mercenary Greil. Pre-game.

Children raising children, that was all this was. Oscar wasn’t old enough to have a sip of alcohol, but he was, apparently, old enough to have been a knight in the Crimean Royal Knights, and old enough to raise two children by himself.

“Finally got ‘im to snooze off,” came Boyd’s voice, barely audible over the creaking door. Oscar snatched his hand shut and rested his fist in his lap, the cold, dead weight of gold coins digging into his palm. From how Boyd stilled, gaze lingering on his fist before looking up, he must have seen just how few coins they had.

Oscar didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He brought his hands up to his head and hunched forward with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, hey.” The bed groaned as Boyd sat down next to him. A warm hand, larger than Oscar last remembered it being, clapped his shoulder. “S’okay, Oscar. We’ll work something out. We’ll go to the market tomorrow and find some good food, yeah?”

“And then what?” he bit out. “What happens when we run out of money? I can’t leave you two alone.”

“Course you can—”

Oscar snapped his head up. “I am  _ not,”  _ he found himself snarling, “that woman that claims to be our mother. I am not abandoning you two.”

Boyd bit his lip and looked away, his hand falling from Oscar’s shoulder to rest in his lap. Oscar glanced over to him. His eyes drifted not to his brother, but to the empty bed, to the pillow that was still crumpled in the shape of their father’s head. The stench of death still lingered; like a rotting fruit, its insides weeping and mangled and collapsed upon itself. Also interwoven with it was that too-familiar malodor of illness, of spilled vulneraries and stale air, of robes worn for too long and vomit that remained in the flooring and bedding no matter how much you scrubbed. None of them could sleep in this room, even though it meant they often found themselves all hunched up together on a single bed, limbs dangling and used as pillows, with the blanket tucked around Rolf.

Oscar didn’t even remember entering this room. Didn’t remember sitting on the bed. Didn’t know how long he’d been here for.

Ashera, what a terrible brother he was proving to be.

Boyd’s hand clamped his shoulder again. “C’mon. Let’s try and sleep.”

Oscar gave a minute nod.

It would have been a lie to say that he rested at all. He was in that pathetic state of being too exhausted to sleep, when it was less tiring to keep your eyes open and stare at nothing. He watched spiders inch their way across the wooden flooring and weave little webs that glistened in the moonlight as Boyd snored and Rolf whimpered.

When the spiderwebs took on a tinge of orange and the wall began to brighten, Oscar dug his fingers into his eyes, attempting to scope out the exhaustion that had settled deep within them. It didn't work, of course; he suspected that even if he plucked them out and dug inside the hollows, he wouldn't be rid of this weight dredging down every bone in his body.

Eventually, as the shadows began to stretch, he shook his brothers awake to get to the market early.

And so that was how they found themselves in front of the baker's stall, who appeared rueful as Oscar looked at the few coins in his hand and felt the world ending around him.

"Nothing," he whispered. He continued staring, as if the feeble amount of coins would somehow multiply into more. He blinked and blinked, again and again.

Nothing changed.

Boyd said nothing, his silence more damning than a thousand words. Rolf, clutching a half-eaten stale piece of bread in one hand and Boyd's hand in the other, began to sniff.

"Is there nothing?" Oscar begged. "No waste? No food you can't sell?  _ Nothing?" _

"If you don't have the money, no can do."

He wanted to be sick.

"How much is it?" boomed a male voice. Startled, Oscar looked up at the thumping of boots — stood next to them was a man whose shadow completely engulfed the three of them. The early dawn cast a blinding light on his pauldron and warmed the dull browns and oranges of his cape, contrasting against his black plainclothes. Strapped to his back was an impressive axe almost as large as he stood.

"Ah — Greil, sir. G'morning."

The man — Greil, apparently — gave the baker a withering look that made them recoil before he turned to the three of them. His eyes were weathered, showing not even a sprinkle of emotion as they roamed over each of them. Oscar clenched his fist shut and shoved it behind his back, feeling as though it had been burnt. He saw Boyd tighten his grip on Rolf's hand.

"What do you boys want?"

"We don't need your pity!" Boyd roared "Leave us alone!"

Rolf sniffled.

Oscar couldn't even muster up the energy to tell Boyd off.

There was silence. Greil's chiseled face told a story of a man who had clearly been through much. It was as though a sculptor had etched a permanent scowl onto his brow, along with a fierce scar, but in his eyes was a kindness that had never been in their mother's hungry gaze.

Oscar found himself squirming on the spot.

There was a shuffle of cloth as Greil turned back. "I'll take these baguettes—"

"Hey!" Boyd cried.

"—along with a few buns and some loaves of bread—"

_ "Hey!" _

Greil pulled out a fat bag of coins, bulging and dragging down the frayed cloth with a weight that Oscar could only ever dream of having for himself. He handed it over to the beaming baker, who was quickly to give him bags upon bags upon  _ bags _ of baked goods.

Boyd's mouth was watering, despite his best attempts to hide it and glare at the man.

From one bag, Greil tugged out the largest of the baguettes. He crouched down and held it out to Rolf, who stared at him wide-eyed. Slowly, he reached forward and took it. Even Boyd didn't say a word.

"Isn't that better?" came Greil's kind voice.

Nodding, Rolf was already stuffing the roll into his mouth. Oscar, for the first time in many months, felt relief wash over him.

Greil stood up, bags dangling from his arms. There was a warmth in his eyes that Oscar struggled to put a name to. Paternal, perhaps. It wasn't as though their mother had ever looked at them in such a fashion.

"You boys," he said. "I'm the leader of a group of mercenaries."

"Mercenaries!?" Boyd blurted out, eyes shining, his earlier prideful reluctance having vanished completely. "That's so cool! I've always wanted to know how to use an axe! My older brother—" He jolted a thumb at Oscar— "used to be a knight, y'know?"

"Boyd,  _ please." _

"Well, then." Greil continued. "How about you all come to my fort and help me out in exchange for housing and money? I could do with a few healthy lads such as yourselves."

This had to have been pity. This had to be Greil feeling sorry for them. And while such a thing would usually chafe and itch under his skin, was now really the time for such feelings? When he could feed Boyd and Rolf and help to look after them? To try to be the big brother that they deserved to have?

"It would be our pleasure, sir," Oscar said, and felt himself smile with the promise of hope.

Greil's smile back was just as warm.


	2. becoming - lyre and ranulf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyre and Ranulf talk after she has yet another argument with her sister. During Radiant Dawn.

Lyre was _not_ sulking. Not even a little bit! Not at all!

She was only curled up underneath a tree, huffing and puffing under her breath, because of how nasty her sister was! Lyre knew she wasn’t as good at fighting as Lethe was — she didn’t need to keep rubbing it in! It wasn’t like Lyre _enjoyed_ fighting to begin with. One of the first things she always did after every battle was find the nearest water source and scrub her claws clean and rinse out the dried blood and gore in her fur. Hell, she wasn’t even the only one; Mordecai did the exact same thing, and nobody got on _his_ case about him not liking fighting. Granted, he was crazy good at it, while Lyre definitely wasn’t, but _still._

It was a pretty day, all things considered. The sun was shining, and the birdsong was in harmony with the boisterous chatter from the rows of tents perched up for all of their soldiers. She watched laguz and beorc mingle and laugh together without a second glance or thought. Even just three years ago, the thought of such a sight ever occurring would have made even King Caineghis scoff.

“Lyre,” sang a voice from above, “why are you sulkin’?”

She shrieked and brought her claws out on instinct, relaxing when Ranulf’s beaming face greeted her from a tree branch — and then she remembered that it was _Ranulf._

“C-Captain, sir!”

Before she could scramble upright and salute, though, Ranulf waved her off. He hung from his legs upside-down on the branch, tail swishing back and forth. His little cap was dangling down and looked as if it would fall off any second.

"Has Lethe pissed you off again?"

"How—" She grit her teeth together and crossed her arms.

"She's been even harder on the poor trainees than usual." With a grunt, he abruptly pulled himself upright and then dropped down next to her with nary a sound. If Lyre hadn't been sulking (she was mature enough to admit it, unlike _some_ people whose names also began with 'L' and ended in 'E'), she probably would have swooned or admired just how handsome he was.

Ranulf wasn't looking particularly handsome right now, though. With the setting sun casting harsh shadows on everything, he just looked… tired. Wrung-out like a scrunched up pair of Lyre's favourite shorts that hadn't yet dried from being washed.

Concern prickled in her heart. Before she could say anything, though, he'd turned around with raised eyebrows. His hat was slightly askew. Ranulf never let an inch of his clothing be out of place.

"So." He leaned back against the tree next to her. "What happened?"

"Ugh…" She crossed her legs at the ankles and picked at the belt on her left thigh. "She was nagging me _again_ 'cause of the last battle. She had to save my hide." Her nail flicked a loose bit of leather again and again. "It's not my fault I'm just… not as good at fighting as she is. That I'm not much good at all."

"Hey, now, don't say that," Ranulf murmured. "I don't enjoy fighting either, y'know?"

She turned towards him. "Really? You sure keep throwing yourself at people often enough. Like that Black Knight dude! And General Zelgius! Even Skrimir, too!"

"Haha, well." He crossed his arms and hunched up a little. "Someone has to knock sense into that oaf's head."

"Should you really talk about the prince like that..?"

Ranulf just grinned, a bit of his pointy tooth sticking out. It soon melted back into a somewhat subdued look that he'd been wearing more and more lately. It wasn't quite a frown, but it definitely wasn't a smile, either.

Silence fell. Lyre glanced over to her captain, but he seemed lost in his own world, cloudy eyes gazing ahead. She tilted her head back against the tree’s trunk and closed her eyes. If she pretended hard enough, she could imagine that they were back in Gallia, without war or conflict. The whistle of the wind through the leaves, the warmth of the sun’s rays on her face…

“You don’t _need_ to be better than your sister in fighting.”

She squawked again and gave the back of her poor head a solid _thunk_ against the tree. Rubbing the back of her head on the sore spot, she opened her eyes to Ranulf smirking. _Smirking._

“Warn a girl next time!” she whined. “I’m a delicate little thing.”

Ranulf snorted. His face became serious again. “I mean it, though.”

“Huh?”

“We don’t need two Lethes running around, I’m pretty sure.” Ranulf folded his arms. “You’re good in areas that she sucks in, to be blunt. We’ve all got our own strengths and weaknesses. No point becomin’ someone you’re not.”

She sighed. “I know, but… what _else_ am I meant to do right now? We’re at war!”

“Well, one day, we won’t be at war.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, one loosely swung over the other. “Got plenty you can do then. You like making jewelry, don’t you? And clothing in general?”

“How did you..?”

He just gave her another toothy all-knowing grin. Lyre resisted the urge to pout.

“What about you?” she asked. “What are you gonna do after everything calms down?”

“That’s a good question,” came his rueful answer. He was looking ahead again, his eyes impossibly soft and a slight smile on his lips. Lyre followed his gaze, but all that caught her attention was Ike’s headband fluttering behind him in the wind as he talked to some laguz.

“No idea at all?”

He gave his head a short shake as if rousing himself from a deep nap. “Hmm… nah. Not really. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it, I suppose.”

“Well, just… stay alive until then, ‘kay?” She fisted her hands in her lap. “Stop throwing yourself into impossible fights. You’re our _captain,_ not the goddess herself.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” He gave her shoulder a pat. “Go and apologise to your sister before she breaks somebody’s bones.”

_“Ugh.”_ She knew that he was right, but a childish part of her just wanted to flop on the ground and slam her hands and wait for _Lethe_ to come and apologise to her. She was the older one! Wasn’t she meant to be more mature and all of that stuff?

Still. Someone had to reach out first, and Ashera knew that her sister could be even more prideful than she was. That was definitely one thing that ran in their bloodline, if nothing else.

With a grunt, Lyre pushed herself onto her feet and held a hand over her eyes to shield herself from the intense sunlight. She turned around and looked down at Ranulf. “I better see you at dinner, Captain! Don’t think I haven’t noticed you skipping.”

A noise more like a sudden exhale of air than a laugh escaped him. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

She wanted to poke him and ask him to _talk,_ because he just looked more haggard and worn down with each passing day, and yet here he was, comforting her.

But that was for another day. For now, Lyre had a sister to apologise to.


	3. forgiveness - lyre and lethe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Lyre is chosen to enter the Tower of Guidance, Lethe pulls her aside to talk. During Radiant Dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for a request for lethe and lyre and forgiveness - thank you so much! <3

"I don't  _ understand!" _

"And you think  _ I  _ do!?"

Lethe threw Lyre a sharp glare before returning to her mission of 'wear holes into the ground from pacing so intensely'. Tufts of grass and mud were splattered over her leg and boots. From where she sat, cross-legged on her sleeping bag, all Lyre could do was pick at her nails and watch her sister. When Lethe got like this, the best thing to do was to just let her ride it out.

Eventually, Lethe let out a guttural growl, fisting her fingers in her hair before crashing on the ground next to Lyre.

“It’s idiotic, is what it is!” she snarled. “If they had to choose one of us, why would they pick you over me? I’m the warrior out of us two! You’re  _ not! _ You should be—” She threw her arms in the air—  _ “ugh!” _

“I should be..?”

“Making jewelry or clothing or —  _ anything  _ outside of this!” The anger fell from her sister’s face like a gushing waterfall. In the flickering candlelight, she didn’t look nearly as indomitable as she always did in battle. When she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her linked fingers, Lyre could see blossoming bruises and still-healing cuts scattered all over her arms. Some of those, she knew, had been gotten from Lethe protecting  _ her. _

“You shouldn’t be here,” Lethe whispered. “And it’s my fault that you are.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“You said so yourself.” She glanced up, her dark purple eyes like shots of poison in the dim darkness. “That you’re here because of  _ me.  _ Kinda sounds like my fault!”

“Yeah, well.” Lyre looked away to the corner of the tent. “...I know you’d do the same for me.”

“Course I would. We’re sisters.” She dropped her hands and focused on a spot just to the right of Lyre, the way she always did when she was nervous and didn’t want to admit it. “It’s just… you weren’t in the Mad King’s war. I guess I was hopin’ you could stay out of this one, too.”

Lyre couldn’t claim that she had  _ any  _ idea what was going through either the commander’s head or their tactician’s when Ike had plodded up to her and said that she was coming to the tower. She was pretty sure they’d never even  _ spoken  _ before. She’d been at least ten different levels of confused, too tongue-twisted to reply. He must have taken her silence as confirmation, for all he did was grunt at her before stomping away to some other poor soul to tell them that, hey, you’re going to help us fight a goddess.

Lyre went to tell Lethe, and one thing led to another, and, after an extremely furious and extremely one-sided yelling match at the commander, here they were. Tomorrow, the ascent of the tower began.

Tonight, though, all she could do was wait. She felt ill.

“I mean…” She picked at the buckle on her leg. “I’m still glad I’m with you, y’know? I can’t imagine bein’ back at Gallia worrying myself sick about you. Especially with all of this stone statue stuff!”

“Me too, but…” Lethe sighed. “You shouldn’t be here at  _ all.” _

“Bit late for that,” Lyre muttered.

With a scowl, Lethe leaned forward and crossed her arms. "You — You better come back alive. Or I'll never forgive you."

"You can't really forgive someone if they're, y'know, d—"

_ "Don't say it!" _

Lethe’s harsh words cut the noise into silence. It felt as if even the nightlife outside had fallen quiet.

“Don’t…” Lethe hunched in on herself, her voice shaking ever-so-slightly. “Don’t say that word.  _ Please.” _

The emotion in her voice was one that Lyre had never heard before.

Fear. Her sister was afraid.

“I know it’s stupid and irrational of me, but I don’t care.” She crossed her arms and dug her nails into her skin. “Don’t… you’ll be fine. You  _ have  _ to be fine.”

Perhaps, another time, Lyre would have pointed out the multiple flaws within her sister’s words. This wasn’t just another war. They were going to fight against the great goddess herself. How could anyone know what would happen?

But after hearing her voice wobble and shake, after watching her entire body tremble… she didn’t have the heart to do so.

“Course I’ll be fine!” she said instead, trying for a smile. “I’ve got you for a sister, right? And it’s not like everyone else goin’ in is weak. Toughest of the tough, right?” She hated the hint of desperation in her voice, how it sounded as though she was attempting to convince herself more than her sister. It wasn’t  _ false,  _ but...

Lethe cracked a small smile despite that. “Yeah. You’re right.” Her tail flicked behind her. “Still…”

“Yeah?”

“Can we sleep together? Just for tonight?”

They hadn’t done that since they were little kittens, mewling and missing their parents and only having each other for company. Lethe had grown out of it pretty much as soon as she had joined the army.

Lyre rested her hand over her sister’s and smiled. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

Lethe smiled back. In that moment, it felt like, maybe, just maybe, they’d be okay.


	4. dazzling - heather and calill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While nursing a drink in Crimea's finest bar, Heather is approached by its owner. Post-Radiant Dawn.

Calill was simply a most  _ dazzling  _ woman. Her sense of fashion? Unparalleled. And she carried with her a self-confidence so assured that perhaps a fool would have called her haughty. She was far from it, though; underneath those perfect fingernails and lipsticked smirk was a mage of such great fitnesse that she could easily keep up even with someone who was a Spirit Charmer.

Naturally, how could Heather  _ not  _ be in love?

It was just such a shame that she already had a partner. Heather may have been a rogue and a whisperer and a thousand other shameful things that people had called her, but she would never steal the heart of one who had already sworn it to another.

Still, the little bar she ran was one of the least sleazy establishments in Crimea. Tonight, she found herself nursing a drink while perched on a stool at the bar, eyeing up all of the cute women that came in. Of course, that was every single woman. That much went without saying.

If her eyes strayed over to Calill every time she laughed or smiled or swatted her husband’s arm… well. Nobody else needed to know.

When closing time drew near and the staff began to sweep the floor and pull up the stools, Heather made to get up, clenching a thick bag of coins to give as a tip—

Only to be stopped by a warm hand on her arm.

“What’s a pretty lady like yourself doing here all alone, hmm?” Calill slid onto the stool next to her and neatly crossed one leg over the other. Heather took a long second to appreciate the bare thigh presented to her, in particular taking an interest in the slight nicks and scars scattered across it from years of combat, before gazing up. Her stomach flipped at the teasing smile on Calill’s face.

_ Get it  _ **_together,_ ** she reminded herself. She was the one who made girls stutter and blush. It wasn’t the other way around!

“Won’t your husband be mad if he sees you this close to me?” Heather teased. She rested her elbow on the desk and tapped her fingers against her cheek. “Would  _ hate  _ for him to get the wrong idea.”

She’d been expecting any of the typical responses — a stammering insistence that she wasn’t interested in Heather that way at  _ all,  _ or perhaps for her to simply pull away and leave, or to throw a dirty look and a snort.

She hadn’t been expecting Calill to burst out laughing, a haughty sound that she hid behind her outstretched hand.

“Oh,  _ please!”  _ She grinned. “Since you’re so lovely — and we  _ did  _ fight together in that war — I’ll let you in on a small secret.”

The stool’s legs scruffed the floor as she leaned forward.

“We’re not  _ actually  _ married. Not that way.”

Heather cocked her head. Now  _ this  _ was interesting. “Oh?”

“Don’t get me wrong — we’re both Amy’s parents and I’d do anything for that little sweetheart, but we only  _ say  _ we’re married so that men get off my back.” Calill gave a fierce scowl. “No matter how much you tell them that you’re not the least bit interested or concerned with any man at all, they just don’t relent! Largo and I have known each other for eons, so…” She clasped her knee in her hands. “It’s an arrangement that works well. Largo doesn’t hold much interest for anyone in that fashion, and the glint of the wedding band on my finger keeps away all but the most resilient of fools.”

This wasn’t the first time Heather had heard of such an arrangement, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting it from Calill and Largo, of all people. And that part about not being ‘concerned with any man at all’...

It would have been a lie to say that Heather’s heart didn’t give a traitorous leap of hope.

“If I come back tomorrow,” Heather said, tapping her fingernails against the rim of the empty glass. “Would I be able to buy the lovely hostess of this fine establishment a drink?”

Calill threw her head back with a chortle. “Really? You’re asking if I can be seduced with my own drinks?”

“Well…” By the goddess, she was  _ slipping!  _ All Heather could do was give a crooked grin and lift her glass. “So what if I am? It’d certainly be a drink you’d enjoy, hmm?”

“You’ve got gall, that’s for certain.” Calill leaned forward. “Good thing that’s exactly why I came over to you.”

“Oh?”

“Tomorrow night.” Calill’s flawlessly manicured hand rested on top of Heather’s with a knowing smile. “I’m off work. Show up here and we can spend the night tonight. How does that sound?”

Heather grinned back. “Coming from a lady such as yourself? I could think of nothing better.”

“Brilliant.” She squeezed their hands together. “It’s a date, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/greenpiggles) ]
> 
> [ [check out the hashtag!](https://twitter.com/hashtag/TelliusWeek2020) ]
> 
> [ [want to make a request for a particular idea or character(s)? send me an ask on curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/cymbelines) ]
> 
> EDIT: capping this off at four - maybe one day i'll come back and do the rest, but for now assume that it's finished lmao
> 
> if you enjoyed, a kudos and/or comment always brightens a writer's day!! thanks so much for reading~


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